


Clever Girl

by Birdgirl90



Series: Selfcerts: For Her [6]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blow Jobs, College AU, F/M, PWP, Self-Insert, Teacher AU, mgs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl90/pseuds/Birdgirl90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you mouth off when you probably shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clever Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey readers! :)  
> Here we are, back with a new self incert.   
> It had been brought to my attention that these are very popular and that there should be more, especially with Professor Adamska here.  
> This one is written for Tumblr user boxcelot. :) You should go check her out if you haven't already.  
> Enjoy!!  
> ~Birdie

“And that’s why the Declaration of Independence was put into place.  Anyone remember where they signed it?”

There’s a collective sigh through the classroom.  Professor Adamska may in fact be one of the best history professors on campus, a Russian native who moved to the states to teach, a learned Texas smoothness in his voice that can make anything sound interesting.  You think he could even make the dictionary soothing and interesting.  But today is just so ridiculously boring.  Even his cowboy lilt and long face that you find so attractive can’t keep you focused.  You watch idly as he plays with a pencil in his hand, fingers long and slender, never pausing.

“At the bottom,” you mumble, unable to help yourself.

Next to you, several of your classmates snicker.  You grin to yourself, doodling in the margins of the paper.  The grin quickly fades though as your professor locks those grey eyes on you.

“What was that?”

“Oh,” you say with a faint heat forming on the top of your ears.  “Nothing, sir.”

He crosses his arms, fingers still for the first time all period.  He leans comfortably against the wooden desk, legs long just like his torso and fingers...oh what he could do with those fingers...

“No, no,” he says, voice still light but with an undercurrent of authority.  “Please.  Do share with the rest of us.”

You clear your throat.  “I said, the Declaration of Independence was signed at the bottom, Professor.”

There’s a scattering of laughter; even Adamska looks mildly amused before shaking his head and continuing with lecture.

The class passes.  Before it’s over as students pack up, homework is returned.

Everyone gets their papers back.

Everyone but you.

As the class files out the door, you pause at the desk.  Professor Adamska couldn’t look more casual, legs crossed as he still leans against the wooden surface, arms crossed, that silver hair of his wrapped in the messy bun he’s taken to lately.  A strand of it, long and soft, is working it’s way free, and you have to actively stop yourself from touching it, from pushing it back into place.

He notices - nothing gets past those steel eyes - and quirks an eyebrow.

“I didn’t get my paper back.”

“Ah yes,” he says smoothly, voice lilting.  “About that.  I think we need to have a little chat.”

He moves around the classroom desk to sort through a manilla folder where he keeps assignments for return.  He pulls your paper out and sets it on the desk.  You cringe; it’s marked in so much red you aren’t even sure there are any black type letters left.  He quirks an eyebrow at you before fishing in his pocket, pulling out two peppermints.  He pops one in his mouth and sets the other on the table.

“You have so much potential, my dear,” Adamska says with a sigh.  “If you would stop making wiseass remarks in class and actually pay attention to lecture, this would happen less often you know.  I don’t see how you’re going to pass beyond a C at this rate.”

“So what, you’re going to crack the whip on my quips?”

You don’t know why you just said that.  The heat’s rising in your face, both on being called out and for the fact that your mouth doesn’t know when to stop.  But you refuse to back down, so you hold your professor’s gaze.  He smirks at you.  His cowboy boots click across the tile floor as he moves closer to you.  You can smell the peppermint on his breath, the Stetson cologne he wears.  For a moment, your eyes flutter as you breathe deep.

“Did you just sass me?”

You swallow hard.  It’s too late to turn back now.

“Is that what you want, Professor Adamska?”

He reaches out and cups your chin, a crooked grin on his graceful face.

“Adam.  Just Adam will do.  Such a talented, pretty mouth,” he purrs.  “Pity it runs too much in class.”

You snicker, pulse thrumming in your ears, body hot.  

“That’s not the only thing it can do.”

Something flashes across his face.  “Is that so,” he murmurs.  “Maybe I can be...persuaded...to bring your grade up if you can prove to me it does more than smart off in class.”

He drops your face and moves behind the desk, arms crossed and waiting.

“You have ten minutes before my next class comes in to prove to me you deserve a better grade.”

You move around the desk, fingers trailing lightly on the wood.  Your hands are clammy and your heart leaps with nerves and excitement.  This is something you’ve dreamed of doing ever since the semester began, something you know is so wrong and yet so right.  He knows it too, you can see it in his face as he threads fingers through your hair, moving you further behind the desk.

“Show me exactly what that mouth can do,” he whispers before pushing you down on your knees.

You rest beneath the desk as he sits in his chair for the first time all day, waiting, one hand still in tight and unforgiving in your hair, the other behind his head as he leans back a bit, casual even as you can see the arousal in his jeans.  Your fingers tremble as you undo his leather belt, the silver buckle a homage to the days of the west, your face hot.  As you free his aching length, a groan rises from the back of his throat.

“When I cum,” he says, voice deep, “you better swallow every bit.  I’ll deduct points for any mess.”

“Yes sir,” you whisper, running your fingers along his length.

He wants to see what your running mouth can do?

Oh, what he’s in for.

He guides you onto him, pulling you deep enough to choke until your throat adjusts.  He’s heavy and hot on your tongue, tangy, beads of precum already dripping in your wet mouth.  Your professor growl as you work, his hand setting your pace, bobbing up and down.  You swirl your tongue around his tip, lick down the sides with a graze of teeth.  He’s still leaning back, but his breaths are coming in heaves now, and you grin around him.  

When he cums, it’s with a heave and a moan, a slur of Russian filling the air as you swallow every bit.  Your knees ache as you stand, but the flush of his face makes it worthwhile.  He smooths his bun and swallows hard as he adjusts himself.

“You make a compelling argument,” Professor Adamska says, smoothness returning to his voice.  He hands you the peppermint on the table.  “I believe you will pass this class with an A after all.”

The door opens as you gather your things, a smirk on your face and your body warm.  

Maybe you should mouth off more in class.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies!  
> See you at the next fic.  
> ~Birdie


End file.
